Silent Devotion
by sarahnade
Summary: After Sam is badly injured and near death, Dean seeks support from his former lover, Castiel. The two ended on bad terms and it's as angsty as you think. Language, human!Castiel, semi-AU, set after season 5.


_Light reflects from your shadow  
__It is more than I thought could exist_

The rain made everything a thousand times worse. It wasn't the soft, delicate kind of rain, but the stinging, get-the-fuck-inside kind that felt like poison burning right through Dean Winchester's skin. Dean made a mental note to buy an umbrella someday - but he never would, it's not the Winchester way - as he parked the Impala across the street of the familiar home; the home he called his own for a year, the home with the shower that never ran out of hot water, the home with the bed sheets that once smelled of _them_.

Dean shut his eyes, pushing the thoughts away. He stepped out of the Impala, the door creaking shut, and rushed to seek refuge on the porch which was still sheltered with overbearing trees. He then attempted to make himself look presentable: running his fingers through his hair, smoothing out the wrinkles of his jacket, wiping the water off his face and neck. He was literally drenched and felt unbelievably embarrassed, being a few moments from knocking on _his _door, soaked to the bone.

Of course this was Dean's life. Of course this was what he was doing on a Saturday night. He felt so sheepish as he raised his fist to knock on the door. He hesitated, like he knew he would, and simply rested an open palm on it for a moment. It was dry and cold and he had seen this door so many times before but at that moment it seemed foreign. What if _he_ seemed foreign?

He continued to stand there, a crack of thunder startling him out of his reluctance. Dean took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. This was it. He needed this, he knew he did, but Dean was almost positive he was the last person _he_ would want and expect to see when - or if, rather – Dean grew a pair and managed to knock on his door.

Another roll of thunder. A strike of lightning. Not another sound other than the relentless downpour and all the while Dean wondered if this was right in any way. For him to run over to his ex boyfriend's house, seeking support, comfort – hell, anything at all - just because he was going through a rough time. Sure, sane people probably consider it, dream about it even, but who actually does it?

Dean sucked in a sharp breath and knocked without another thought, like ripping off a band aid, except more like slamming a broken neck back in place. Immediately after his fist rapped the swift three knocks he considered making a run for it. There were still some decently sized shrubs he could take cover behind.

A moment passed, a very long moment. Panic washed over.

_What time is it!? _Dean's watch read 11:24 P.M. If _his_ sleeping schedule was like it was three years ago, he's probably still awake. Might be in his room close to dozing off, but he's not asleep yet. _Maybe he didn't hear you knock! _Well, knocking again is a little too persistent and needy for Dean's taste. _Just go back to your car and drive away and don't look back. _Too late now. With Dean's luck, the moment he dashed off, _he_ would open the door and would be greeted with his ex's back disappearing into the rain.

Suddenly, Dean could not breathe and he legitimately thought he might faint. The revelation of what he was doing, where he was, just the whole situation smacked him in the face. He felt lightheaded, he felt like vomiting, or crying, or screaming, or all of the above. All he knew was that he wanted to run and did not want to see _his_ face, even though deep down he knew he did. Why else would he be there? His legs and mind cooperated to get Dean this far, so obviously it was necessary.

The door swung open and there _he_ was.

Different pajamas, but who wears the same pajamas for three years? They were plain white without a single crease. How can pajamas be crease-less? His old ones were blue and checkered and had a ketchup stain on the collar. His hair was tousled, not as much as Dean remembered it being after sex, but more like he had fallen asleep and Dean had woken him – maybe his sleep schedule had changed. The same blue eyes, the same pursed lips, the same smooth skin. The same yet different.

"Cas."

Dean had wished the first thing he said to him would have been a tad more articulate. He had not planned on poetry, but he had hoped to not look like a fool, but it was already too late for that: it was almost midnight, he was soaked in rain, ogling an ex, and saying nothing but his name. Yeah, he was definitely a fool.

"Dean," Castiel replied, his voice low and hoarse and fuck, he must have been sleeping. His eyes were narrowed from either tiredness or confusion and Dean wondered if he thought this was a dream.

"Cas, I... I'm sorry if I woke you, I just..."

"What's wrong?" Castiel took a step down onto the porch. He was closer than spitting distance and that was not OK. He looked worried, though, really worried. "Dean? Dean, what happened?"

Dean's throat seemed to close up and he could hardly verbalize a single word. He swallowed hard and looked down at Castiel's pajama collar. No ketchup stain. He had not yet made direct eye contact and he would like to keep it that way.

"Dean." His voice was sharp, demanding, authoritative. The kind Dean liked him to use in bed.

Another step forward. Dean realized he was shivering, whether it was from the cool rain or his nerves, he did not know. He could feel Castiel's body heat.

Dean waited for him to say his name again, to shake him, yell at him, or turn around and slam the door in his face, but he did none of the above. Castiel just stood there, staring deeply at him like he had done so many times before. Whether during fights or sex or across the dining table during morning coffee, the intensity of his gaze never depleted, and Dean always loved that, but in that moment it was just making him uncomfortable.

But no, Castiel did not say anything more. He waited for Dean, and Dean swallowed again, still avoiding eye contact, and he finally said, far too quietly: "It's Sam."

An instant wave of understanding spilled over Castiel and it made Dean sick. He did not believe he deserved that much sincerity, that much _care _from anyone, especially Castiel.

"A demon?" Castiel asked.

That made Dean laugh, a soft, sad, humorless chuckle and he shook his head. "A human, actually."

Castiel's eyebrows furrowed. "A human?"

Dean nodded, his eyes focused still on the collar of Castiel's shirt. "We were working a job in Orlando. It was late, I was asleep, and he went outside for something, I don't know, probably the vending machine or just to walk around since he hadn't been sleeping well lately. A gunshot woke me up, and I ran outside... and he was out cold. His wallet gone – it must have been a mugging."

"Any sulfur or EMF?"

"No, Cas, believe me, I checked."

Castiel nodded slowly. "Well, humans are the cruelest creatures." Dean could feel his stare on him but he still refused to meet his eyes. _Low blow, cheap shot, thanks for that._

"How long ago?" Castiel questioned.

Dean had to think. The span of time felt smashed together, blurred. "Five days ago," he eventually concluded.

Castiel just nodded slowly. It was as if he was piecing things together; probably observing Dean's disheveled appearance, his urgency, his sadness. Castiel had always been too discerning.

"Look," Dean started. "I just... didn't know who else to go to. Bobby's too far away, and you're right here in Miami... I know you cared about Sam, and Cas, it... it doesn't look too good." Dean laughed humorlessly again, tears forming in his eyes. "Of all the things we've seen, you know? Lucifer, demons, ghouls... and a fucking Joe Shmoe pops him for his wallet full of fake credit cards and now he's on his deathbed."

Castiel said nothing. Dean stared at his feet.

"I'm really sorry for coming here," Dean whispered. He wanted to speak up but he just couldn't.

Castiel cleared his throat. "It's fine, I understand. What do you want me to do?"

Dean shook his head. "I have no idea. I don't expect anything, I don't _deserve_ anything, I just... I don't know. I thought you would want to know." Dean left out the part that all he wanted was to just _see _Castiel because it comforted him. Made him feel safe. But that is not the best thing to say to a former lover you ended with on terrible terms.

Castiel nodded again and they stood in an awkward silence for a few very long moments. Dean still wanted to run away; he thought maybe it would feel like it used to – effortless, pleasant – but then Dean remembered that there was no way they would ever interact like that again. And that hurt a lot, but Dean did not want to think about any of that. He came here for Sam, for comfort, for the voice in the back of his head that said Castiel needed to know, but no, he did not want to think about their past.

Dean could see Castiel jolt slightly from the corner of his eye, like he just realized something or came out of a daze. "Sorry, you can come in if you want... it's rude of me not to offer. I'm still not the best at common courtesy."

Dean was already shaking his head. "I can't go in there," he said quietly.

Dean's eyes were still fixed on his feet, and he did not have to look at Castiel to know he was wearing a quizzical expression. "Yes, you can. Are you staying at a hotel? Because you surely aren't driving back to wherever Sam is in this weather."

"Why are you doing this? Acting like this?" Dean snapped suddenly, a little louder and more venomous than he anticipated.

Castiel seemed only slightly phased, and his head tilted to the side a bit. "What am I doing?"

"Being... considerate."

"I like to think I'm a considerate person."

"You shouldn't be to me."

"No, but I am and I'm not sure why. Oh, wait. Probably because your brother is dying," Castiel said quickly, cruel humor thick, something he learned straight from Dean.

Dean scoffed. "That doesn't mean you invite me into your house and-"

"Why won't you look at me?" Castiel interrupted and Dean snapped his mouth shut. "I think you owe me that much. To at least look me in the eye."

"Fuck you," Dean mumbled, and instantly regretted it.

Castiel grabbed Dean's shoulders hard, but his hands automatically softened as they dropped to his biceps. Castiel shook him slightly, and Dean was so stunned that his head bobbed up just enough that he couldn't help but meet Castiel's eyes. They were so fucking blue, so dark and bright at the same time, and all Dean could think about was how they would dilate the few seconds before Castiel would orgasm and that was truly the last thing Dean wanted to be thinking.

"Are you serious?" Castiel growled, literally growled, which broke Dean's inappropriate thoughts into pieces. Dean focused his eyes on Castiel's mouth; anything but his eyes was good enough. "You come to my house, obviously torn apart, and all you can do is look away and say 'fuck you?' Seriously?"

"Dammit, Cas-"

"If you want my help, ask me. If you want my support, ask me. If you want anything, just ask me, but do not _bullshit_ me," Castiel spat so quickly and so ferociously that Dean's heart raced and he felt pure fear bloom inside him.

Dean's eyes stung with tears and he felt unbelievably pathetic and meek. "I really don't want to fight right now," was all he could say.

Castiel let go of Dean's arms and Dean held his gaze for the first time in three years. Castiel's entire body softened and a wave of tension seemed to abruptly vanish. "Neither do I," Castiel replied quietly. "I just..."

"I know. I suck," Dean said with a smirk completely devoid of joy. "I show up on your doorstep with shitty news and I'm still a shitty person and I'm sorry, but I honestly, from the bottom of my heart, wanted to see you – needed to see you, needed to tell you, and if this conversation was a total crash and burn, then, well, I deserved it."

Dean was still holding Castiel's eye and it was the most exhilarating and terrifying thing he had done in a long time. Castiel just stared back, and three years ago Dean could have told you exactly what he was thinking and feeling, but in that moment Dean did not have a clue.

"I don't think it's a _total _crash and burn," Castiel said.

"Eh, I think it is."

And Castiel smiled, just the smallest little smile, like some foreign being was pulling the sides of his mouth upwards and it made Dean grin like an imbecile.

Castiel looked at him with a fondness Dean had not seen for quite some time and it made him queasy. "Please come inside. I really don't want to beg but I will."

"Cas," Dean said shaking his head, his grin fading. "I can't. I really can't."

"Can't or won't?" Castiel questioned distastefully.

Dean sighed. "A little of both... look, I know it's dumb for me to drop by with this fucking news and then skip town, but I have to get back to Orlando, back to Sam. I just didn't want to call you and tell you this over the phone, and I needed a long drive anyway."

Castiel pursed his lips. "Then I'll go with you."

Dean smiled slightly. "You told me that before and it didn't end too well."

"This is different."

"Cas... no, just no."

Castiel exhaled dramatically. "Dean, please, you are being far too dense and difficult."

"Thanks."

"You're alone."

A pause. "Thanks again, asshole."

"And you know why?"

"Don't do that, don't patronize me, don't treat me like a child, don't throw my fuck ups in my fucking face, just-"

"Because you push people away," Castiel interjected.

"Are you a shrink now? Can it, I'm serious."

"You love Sam, but how many times have you pushed him away? For your own sanity, your trust issues?"

Dean just blinked, unable to process what Castiel was saying to him. "For the greater good too, unless you forget that the Apocalypse almost went down a few years ago. And, you know, we kinda had the lead roles in the play."

"You loved your father, but you resent him."

"I could say the same to you," Dean retorted.

"And you loved me but apparently not enough."

_There it is._

Dean visibly stiffened. "You know that's not true."

"Everything I just said is true, Dean, I wouldn't lie."

Dean's eyes were still locked on Castiel's. "You're not an angel anymore Cas, you can't pitch the whole purity, honest shit, especially to me, I'll fucking barf." Castiel shook his head and Dean just said, "I thought we didn't want to fight."

Castiel chuckled dryly. "Yes, but what did you expect? For things to go well? That's not us."

Dean sighed. "I wish it was."

And then Castiel looked at Dean again with that strange fondness and Dean wondered how he could do that; go from saying cruel things and looking at him with such detest, and then switch it instantly to a gaze of tenderness. It really made Dean uneasy, but it was better than the growling and ferocity.

"I'm going to ask you one more time," Castiel cautioned. "What do you want me to do? Do you want to sleep on my couch and head back to Orlando in the morning? Do you want me to go with you? Or do you want me to turn around and shut the door and forget we ever had this conversation?"

Dean started to look away from Castiel's eyes but stopped himself. "Cas, I seriously don't know. All of those options suck... what do you want to do?"

"It's your choice. It's your brother, your problem. You're the one who knocked on my door."

"Well, I'm not sleeping, I know that, so screw your couch," Dean thought aloud "And we can't just ignore this conversation, for both of our sakes."

"So I am coming with you."

A pause. "If you're willing to just dash away from your life and deal with me for God knows how long, and see Sam like this, then sure, whatever."

Castiel blinked. "So do you want me to come or not?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I guess so! Look, ok, I guess I do, but it's not going to go well at all, and I just can't worry about our little issues because I have to focus on Sam. We already exploded at each other twice and I can't bring this... tension or whatever into the hospital. I just can't."

Castiel nodded. "You want us to be civil."

"Yes," Dean breathed. "But I don't want us to be so fucking pleasant that we choke on bullshit. I know you hate me and I know this is awful-"

"I don't hate you, Dean," Castiel interrupted. Dean looked confused. "If I hated you, I would have slammed the door in your face the minute I saw it was you. I wouldn't be talking to you, I wouldn't be offering my support. Yes, we have issues – well, one big issue – but... there's bigger fish to fry. I care about Sam and I want to be there for him. But I also care about you even though I shouldn't. Dean... let me do this. For you, for Sam, for myself."

And how could Dean protest that.

Castiel said he would be right back, just wanted to pack a few things, and Dean stood alone on the porch once again. Castiel had offered once more for Dean to step inside because 'it's cold and wet and downright scary out here,' but Dean shook his head and Castiel seemed to understand.

But he couldn't _really_ understand. Sure, Dean figured the breakup was just as hard on Castiel as it was on himself, but Castiel didn't have to leave behind their home. Dean had seen part of the living room and stairs when Castiel had stepped back inside which was almost too much for Dean to handle. From what he saw, it looked fairly similar. Nothing had been painted or moved or anything, but Dean had caught glimpse of an unfamiliar chair. Castiel furniture shopping, Dean would pay to see that.

**Two years ago**

_"What is a thread count?" Castiel called from the living room, his voice weaving and traveling beautifully thanks to the room acoustics._

_ Dean smiled as he continued observing the paint job the two did earlier in the kitchen; the walls were now a cheery yellow, and the floor was covered with messy newspapers."It's with sheets, they-" _

_ "What is the difference between tile and hardwood?" _

_ "Tile is like-"_

_ "Aren't all mattresses the same?"_

_ Dean smiled a little and walked quickly into the living room to find his boyfriend, as he had guessed, sitting on the floor, poking around on Dean's laptop. "Cas, are you going through my Internet history?"_

_ Castiel blushed,literally blushed, and laughed that awkward, uncertain one that Dean always enjoyed hearing, but wished he heard less often. He wanted Castiel to be completely comfortable around him. _

_ Dean grinned and made his way farther into the room and sat across from Castiel. "I'm just curious about what you're purchasing," Castiel explained._

_ "Well, you could let me finish answering one question before you shoot off another."_

_ "My apologies," Castiel said, looking down._

_ Dean laughed again. "I'm kidding! Man, I've got to teach you how to joke. And what sarcasm is, that's another biggie with you. And irony. And-"_

_ "OK, I get it, I'm oblivious and humorless, how funny," Castiel said, grinning. He looked up from the laptop screen and met Dean's eyes, blue against green._

_ Dean was still smiling. He found it hard not to when Castiel was being so carefree, so happy, so human. "I'm serious, I really do. I mean, I love your obliviousness, but I just want you to understand and be aware of those things. And your emotions. You have emotions now – real, strong, human emotions - and you're going to feel things and probably not understand them."_

_ Castiel nodded, his eyes narrowing. He was thinking, considering, dwelling. "What emotions? I know of doubt and anger thanks to Heaven."_

_ Dean thought for a moment. "Hope? Do you know what hope feels like? It's the opposite of __doubt."_

_ Castiel laughed sadly. "I don't think so, then."_

_ Dean frowned. "What about fear? You've been afraid before, right?"_

_ Castiel looked down again and it seemed like he was thinking very hard. Dean was surprised. "Really? You've never been scared? Not even in Lawrence when Michael blew you to bits?"_

_ "I didn't really feel anything other than my body exploding, Dean."_

_ "No, I mean like in the moments before he did it," Dean tried. Castiel looked confused. "Like... after you went and he killed Bobby, he started beating the shit out of me, and I was scared. Really scared. You and Bobby just died in front of me and my brother is the Devil's vessel and he's beating me to death. I was scared. That's fear. Fear for your life, fear for someone elses life... it sucks, and you'll probably feel it at some point."_

_ Castiel looked at Dean again and he seemed sad. It made Dean ache, but he had decided when Castiel became human that he wouldn't sugarcoat things; Dean would tell him about pain, about sorrow, about death. Castiel needed to know and Dean cared about and respected him too much to brush these things away._

_ "And I thought being an angel was difficult," Castiel admitted._

_ Dean gazed at his lover sympathetically. "And I'm sure it was. You were a soldier. You had to fight for something you didn't believe in."_

_ "But this is... this is just so... there is no reward. No getting better," Castiel stammered._

_ Dean thought for a moment and was about to agree, but stopped himself. "No, there's a reward," he said, and Castiel looked at him curiously. Dean smiled. "Love. Love's a feeling. And I think it makes all the pain worth it. Gives humans a reason to withstand it at least."_

_ It was as if all the sudden sadness lifted off of Castiel and he seemed relieved. "Love... yes, I think that's worthwhile."_

_ Dean smiled. "Good." Castiel returned the smile and the two stared at each other for a few moments, getting lost in each others greens and blues._

_ Castiel blinked and motioned towards the laptop. "So, do you want to go get all this stuff? I mean, we did buy a house with absolutely nothing in it and I don't want to sleep on the floor again."_

_ Dean laughed and stood up, stretching. "Yeah, let's go."_

_ Castiel stood as well and shook his head. "I think you better go by yourself, I won't be of any assistance."_

_ Before Dean could argue and insist Castiel come with, Castiel just held his hand up, silencing him. "You go. I'll just wait here. And take these coupons, I found them in the newspapers."_

_ Dean laughed and explained to Castiel once again how fake credit cards worked in between kisses and graces of hands over paint-stained shirts._

**Present**

Dean exhaled heavily and pulled himself back into reality. He wiped his sweaty palms on his faded jeans. He had not realized they had been sweating, but he had also been kind of in a daze the entire conversation. It still didn't seem real, and he was tempted to pinch himself but before he had the chance, Castiel emerged from his house with a small bag and an outfit change; he was wearing jeans without a single particle of dirt and a plain navy shirt. Very simple, very Castiel, and very agonizing to Dean's reproductive system.

Castiel then insisted he drove. "Dean, I know you, and I can tell you haven't slept well in days, if you've even slept at all. It's a four hour drive to Orlando, and I'll wake you up when we get close. Just sleep, please." And then he pulled a small pillow from his bag and threw it in the passenger seat and made his way to the drivers side, shutting Dean out of arguing.

"Fine," Dean huffed as they both settled into the Impala. "But I don't know how much I trust you driving her."

That made Castiel smile as he turned the key in the ignition. "I'll be careful. Shut up and go to sleep."

Dean wanted to say 'you shut up' but he was out cold the second his head hit the pillow. The pillow that was Castiel's and smelled like his shampoo.

Castiel drove, his eyes strained and bloodshot from scanning the night highways. He listened to the sound of Baby's healthy hum as he passed green light after green light, the Florida streets being exceptionally kind. It rained all the while, a steady, unforgiving downpour, and the windshield wipers seemed to be on overdrive.

He also listened to Dean's soft snore, the one that he remembered falling asleep and waking up to. The one that never annoyed him, not once, and when Dean left and Castiel was in bed alone for the first time in a year, he laid awake staring at the ceiling until the sun came up, unable to drift off for even a few minutes.

What the hell was he doing? Being a good person? A good person to Dean? He was right – Dean didn't deserve Castiel's support. Dean sabotaged their relationship, he ruined everything. They had a year of bliss and normalcy and it was all thrown away because of _Dean_. Not Castiel, not Sam, not hunting, not anything supernatural - they had separated themselves from the things that crawl in the dark, and Sam had been nothing but supportive. And the last person Castiel expected to squeeze a wedge between him and Dean was Dean himself, but that's exactly who had been caught red handed.

Castiel couldn't believe he was in Dean's _car_, Dean fast asleep next to him, driving to see Sam, who, from what Dean told him, was near death. And not from a demon, not from Lucifer, but a human. It was so ironic. Irony was something Dean had explained to Castiel when he became human along with hope, fear, and most importantly, love. Castiel had already understood and identified with doubt and anger before, but irony...

The irony of Sam being attacked by a human when virtually any supernatural being had a bounty on his head and would love to drag him down to Hell, was just downright curious. It mirrored what Dean had done to Castiel, that a human really could be the cruelest creature.

But Dean's not evil. No, no, no. He just made a mistake, an incredibly profound, deep mistake, but a mistake nevertheless. Castiel would never forget the raw iron taste in his mouth, would never forget the intense feeling of disappointment, of betrayal. But Dean was not evil. He had a good heart, Castiel knew that when he marked him and pulled him out of Hell all those years ago. But the good in his heart didn't make his mistake any less harrowing.

Castiel's head started to pang. He pushed thoughts of irony and Dean and Sam out of his mind and hurried through a yellow light. A few minutes later it had finally stopped raining.


End file.
